─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
"Ah, Mafalda!" said Umbridge, looking at Hermione." Travers sent you, did he?"
"Y—yes," squeaked Hermione. "Good, you'll do perfectly well." Umbridge spoke to the wizard in black and gold. "That's that problem solved, Minister, if Mafalda can be spared for record-keeping we shall be able to start straightaway." She consulted her clipboard. "Ten people today and one of them the wife of a Ministry employee!! Tut, tut . . . even here, in the heart of the Ministry!" She stepped into the lift beside Hermione, as did the two wizards who had been listening to Umbridge's conversation with the Minister. Clara's father stood in front of her, his hair slicked back and his body rigid and cold. "We'll go straight down, Mafalda, and you'll find everything you need in the courtroom." Umbridge spared a glance towards Harry and nodded politely, "Good morning, Albert, aren't you getting out?"
"Yes, of course," said Harry in Runcorn's deep voice. Harry stepped out of the lift. He glanced at Clara quickly before the golden grilles clanged shut. Clara hoped the lift would break and she could plummet to her death. That would be a much better situation than...
"Oh, and Sandra?"
"Hmm?" hummed Clara, her daydream being interrupted by Umbridge's high pitched voice.
"You'll be shadowing Mr. Dupont today. He'll teach you the ins and outs. If you have any questions please do ask him. It is his job to answer them."
"Right," said Clara, barely forcing her voice above a murmur. Clara's father turned around and extended his hand.
"Don't worry, today's cases are fairly basic. I doubt you'll find anything complicated."
Clara shook her father, Mr. Dupont's hand. "Thank you, sir."
Fifteen minutes later Clara was seated next to her father in a courtroom. His hand moved fast as he scrolled personal notes on each case that was presented. There had been two already so far, and the third seemed about ready to come to a close.
Clara stared uncomfortably at her father. He was so focused, so calm - when had this man turned into her greatest fear? Mr. Dupont's eyes flickered over at Clara, or Sandra, and he scrunched his eyes slightly. "Did you have a question for me?"
"Oh," said Clara, forcing her gaze downwards at her hands, "Sorry, just got lost in thought. These cases are moving erm- quite fast, aren't they?"
"They always do with Umbridge," replied Louis, "She's a very persistent judge."
Clara hummed in response. Silence fell upon the two as the defendant launched into a lengthy explanation. "So, is this what you do everyday?"
Louis turned to her with a confused face. "Well, yes. It is my job. And soon, when your training commences, it will be yours too."
"Right, right... So what do you do when you're not at work?" There was a loud "That's quite enough!" from Umbridge as the defendant seemed to upset her. Louis stammered and put his pen down, seemingly trying to form an answer. "Sorry, that's personal."
"No, it's alright. Well, in the few hours a day that I'm not in the Ministry I usually sleep to be honest. This job is a lot and it requires a lot of hours on site. So, I guess I just do whatever I can to relax when I'm not here."
"Hmm, no family then?" asked Clara, trying and failing to not let her voice falter.
"No, not anymore."
"I'm sorry to hear that," said Clara in the most nonchalant voice she could manage, "Do you mind... Would it be rude of me to ask what happened?"
Louis chuckled. "It might, but I don't mind answering. My wife was murdered a long time ago. So long ago in fact, that it almost seems like a bad dream now. Like something I simply imagined."
"And you two never had any," Clara coughed, "any children?"
"We did. A girl."
"She was murdered as well?" Clara searched her father's eyes, looking for any opening of sadness, pain, regret, or anything that would allow her hatred and fear to subside.
"No, no. She's very much alive as far as I know. She left home last year. We uh-" Louis paused and stroked his short beard with his fingers. He put his hand back down and clasped it with his other hand, "We had some differences."
"Oh." breathed Clara, barely able to keep her heart from collapsing.
The defendant screamed, loudly. Louis and Clara both whipped their heads towards the center of the courtroom. "This is your final warning," said Umbridge's soft voice, magically magnified so that it sounded clearly over the man's desperate screams. "If you struggle, you will be subjected to the Dementor's Kiss."
The man's screams subsided, but dry sobs echoed through the corridor. "Take him away," said Umbridge. Two dementors appeared in the doorway of the courtroom, their rotting, scabbed hands clutching the upper arms of a wizard who appeared to be fainting. They glided away down the corridor with him, and the darkness they trailed behind them swallowed him from sight. Clara held in a gasp at the horrid sight.
"Next—Mary Cattermole," called Umbridge. A small woman stood up; she was trembling from head to foot. Her dark hair was smoothed back into a bun and she wore long, plain robes. Her face was completely bloodless. As she passed the dementors, Clara saw her shudder.
"Sit down," said Umbridge in her soft, silky voice. Mrs. Cattermole stumbled to the single seat in the middle of the floor beneath the raised platform. The moment she had sat down, chains clinked out of the arms of the chair and bound her there.
"You are Mary Elizabeth Cattermole?" asked Umbridge. Mrs. Cattermole gave a single, shaky nod. "Married to Reginald Cattermole of the Magical MaintenanceDepartment?"
Mrs. Cattermole burst into tears.
"I don't know where he is, he was supposed to meet me here!"
Umbridge ignored her. "Mother to Maisie, Ellie, and Alfred Cattermole?" Mrs. Cattermole sobbed harder than ever. "They're frightened, they think I might not come home— "
"Spare us," spat Yaxley. "The brats of Mudbloods do not stir our sympathies."
Clara turned her eyes to the man on Umbridge's side. What an ugly thing to say. Clara looked at Hermione, trying to gauge any reaction she was having but suddenly, Hermione jumped so violently she nearly overturned the bottle of ink with which she was supposed to be recording the interview, but both Umbridge and Yaxley were concentrating upon Mrs. Cattermole, and this went unnoticed by everyone except Clara.
"A wand was taken from you upon your arrival at the Ministry today, Mrs. Cattermole," Umbridge was saying, "Eight-and-three quarter inches, cherry, unicorn-hair core. Do you recognize that description?" Mrs. Cattermole nodded, mopping her eyes on her sleeve. "Could you please tell us from which witch or wizard you took that wand?"
"T— took?" sobbed Mrs. Cattermole. "I didn't t-take it from anybody. I b-bought it when I was eleven years old. It—it—it—chose me." She cried harder than ever.
Umbridge laughed a soft girlish laugh that made Clara want to hex her. She leaned forward over the barrier, the better to observe her victim, and something gold swung forward too, and dangled over the void: the locket. Hermione had seen it; she made eye contact with Clara and raised her eyebrows.
"No," said Umbridge, "no, I don't think so, Mrs. Cattermole. Wands only choose witches or wizards. You are not a witch. I have your responses to the questionnaire that was sent to you here—Mafalda, pass them to me."
Umbridge held out a small hand. Hermione's hands were shaking with shock. She fumbled in a pile of documents balanced on the chair beside her, finally withdrawing a sheaf of parchment with Mrs. Cattermole's name on it. "That's— that's pretty, Dolores," she said, pointing at the pendant gleaming in the ruffled folds of Umbridge's blouse.
"What?" snapped Umbridge, glancing down. "Oh yes— an old family heirloom," she said, patting the locket lying on her large bosom. "The S stands for Selwyn. . . . I am related to the Selwyns. . . . Indeed, there are few pure blood families to whom I am not related. . . . A pity," she continued in a louder voice, flicking through Mrs. Cattermole's questionnaire, "that the same canno tbe said for you. 'Parents professions: greengrocers.'"
Yaxley laughed jeeringly. Before Clara's eyes, a wand floated out of thin air: "STUPEFY!"
There was a flash of red light; Umbridge crumpled and her forehead hit the edge of the balustrade: Mrs. Cattermole's papers slid off her lap onto the floor. Yaxley, confused, looked around for the source of the trouble and sawHarry's disembodied hand and wand pointing at him. He tried todraw his own wand, but too late: "Stupefy!"
Yaxley slid to the ground to lie curled on the flood. Clara got up and pushed her way through the group of Ministry workers towards the center of the room.
"Harry!"
"Hermione, if you think I was going to sit here and let her pretend— "
"Harry, Mrs. Cattermole!"Harry whirled around, throwing off the Invisibility Cloak. Down below, the dementors had moved out of their corners: they were gliding toward the woman chained to the chair and seemed to have abandoned restraint. Mrs. Cattermole let out a terrible scream of fear as a slimy, scabbed hand grasped her chin and forced her face back.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"The silver stag soared from the tip of Harry's wand and leaped toward the dementors, which fell back and melted into the dark shadows again. The stag's light filled the whole dungeon as it cantered around and around the room. "Get the Horcrux," Harry told Hermione. He ran back down the steps, stuffing the Invisibility Cloak back into his bag, and approached Mrs. Cattermole. Clara had beaten him to her aid and was desperately trying to undo the chains trapping Mrs. Cattermole.
"You?" she whispered, gazing into Harry's face. He stopped just short of Clara and began trying to pull on the chain on Mrs. Cattermole's other arm. "But—but Reg said you were the one who submitted my name for questioning!"
"Did I?" muttered Harry, tugging at the chains binding her arms. "Well, I've had a change of heart. Diffindo!" Nothing happened.
"Relashio!" said Clara. The chains clinked and withdrew into the arms of the chair. Clara let out a sigh of relief and helped the woman out of the chair. Mrs. Cattermole looked just as frightened as before. "I don't understand," she whispered.
"You're going to leave here with us," said Harry, "Go home, grab your children, and get out, get out of the country if you've got to. Disguise yourselves and run. You've seen how it is, you won't get anything like a fair hearing here."
"Harry," said Hermione, joining the group in the center of the room. "how are we going to get out of herewith all those dementors outside the door?"
"Patronuses," said Harry, pointing his wand at his own: The stag slowed and walked, still gleaming brightly, toward the door. "As many as we can muster; do yours, Hermione."
"Stupe-"
"Confringo!" cried Clara, whipping her body around at a worker with his wand raised at the group. His body shriveled in blue flames and the sound of the explosion echoed through the hall. Clara's hand flew to her mouth. She stood in shock, looking at the area where the man had once stood. Harry put his hand on her shoulder and turned her around.
"I'd not try anything. Clearly, it won't end well for you," he said to the crowd of workers staring at them. "Clara, come on, we've got to go." Clara broke her shock to look up at her father. His mouth fell open. He sat back down his seat and put his head in his hands.
"Expecto patronum!" said Hermione. A silver otter burst from the end of Hermione's wand and swam gracefully through the air to join the stag. Harry looked expectantly at Clara. She drew her wand higher and took in a shaky breath.
"Expec-" Clara sighed, shakily, "Expecto patronum." Nothing came from Clara's wand. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away with her hand.
"It's the only spell she ever has trouble with," Harry told a completely bemused Mrs. Cattermole. "Bit unfortunate, really . . . " Harry squeezed Clara's shoulder, which he had not let go of since pulling her away from her destructive situation, "Come on, Clara. . . . I know you can do this." he whispered, his lips almost touching her ear. Clara took in another deep breath, allowing the warmth of Harry's hand to calm her down.
"Expecto patronum." she said calmly. Clara's patronus joined the others', flying over them in a circle before floating by the side of Harry's stag.
"C'mon," said Harry, letting go of Clara's shoulder. He led the group to the door. The four of them left the room and entered the rest of the dark dungeons. A cry arose from the people sitting in the darkness.
"It's been decided that you should all go home and go into hiding with your families." Harry told the waiting Muggle-borns, who were dazzled by the light of the Patronuses and still cowering slightly. "Go abroad if you can. Just get well away from the Ministry. That's the—er—new official position. Now, if you'll just follow the Patronuses, you'll be able to leave from the Atrium."They managed to get up the stone steps without being intercepted, but as they approached the lifts Clara started to have misgivings. The lift clanged to a halt in front of them. "Reg!" screamed Mrs. Cattermole, and she threw herself intoRon's arms. "Runcorn let me out, he attacked Umbridge and Yaxley, and he's told all of us to leave the country, I think we'd better do it, Reg, I really do, let's hurry home and fetch the children and—why are you so wet?"
"Water," muttered Ron, disengaging himself. "Harry, they know there are intruders inside the Ministry, something about a hole in Umbridge's office door. I reckon we've got five minutes of that— " Hermione's Patronus vanished with a pop as she turned a horrorstruck face to Harry.
"Harry, if we're trapped here—!"
"We won't be if we move fast," said Harry. "Who's got wands?"
About half of the people around raised their hands. "Okay, all of you who haven't got wands need to attach yourself to someone who has. We'll need to be fast before they stop us. Come on." They managed to cram themselves into two lifts. An older man stood near Clara and tapped her shoulder. He opened his hands to reveal he had no wand. Clara nodded and mouthed to him: "Stick with me." Harry's Patronus stood sentinel before the golden grilles as they shut and the lifts began to rise.
"Level eight," said the cool witch's voice, "Atrium."
"Harry!" squeaked Hermione. "What are we going to—?"
"STOP!" Harry thundered, and the powerful voice of Runcorn echoed through the Atrium: The wizards sealing the fireplaces froze. "Follow me," he whispered to the group of terrified Muggleborns, who moved forward in a huddle, shepherded by Ron, Clara, and Hermione.
"What's up, Albert?" said a balding wizard. He looked nervous.
"This lot need to leave before you seal the exits," said Harry with all the authority he could muster. The group of wizards in front of him looked at one another.
"We've been told to seal all exits and not let anyone— "
"Are you contradicting me?" Harry blustered. "Would you like me to have you family tree examined, like I had Dirk Cresswell's?"
"Sorry!" gasped the balding wizard, backing away. "I didn't mean nothing, Albert, but I thought . . . I thought they were in for questioning and . . . "
"Their blood is pure." said Harry, "Purer than many of yours. I daresay. Off you go," he boomed to the Muggle-borns, who scurried forward into the fireplaces and began to vanish in pairs. Clara pushed the old man forward as quickly as she could. She waved quickly as she saw him vanish next to a young woman. He waved back before disappearing before Clara's eyes. The Ministry wizards hung back, some looking confused, others scared and resentful.
Then:"Mary!"Mrs. Cattermole looked over her shoulder. The real Reg Cattermole, no longer vomiting but pale and wan, had just come running out of a lift."R–Reg?"She looked from her husband to Ron, who swore loudly.
The balding wizard gaped, his head turning ludicrously from one Reg Cattermole to the other. "Hey—what's going on? What is this?"
"Seal the exit! SEAL IT!"Yaxley had burst out of another lift and was running toward the group beside the fireplaces into which all of the Muggle-borns but Mrs. Cattermole had now vanished. As the balding wizard lifted his wand, Harry raised an enormous fist and punched him, sending him flying through the air.
"He's been helping Muggle-borns escape, Yaxley!" Harry shouted. The balding wizard's colleagues set up an uproar, under cover of which Ron grabbed Mrs. Cattermole, pulled her into the still-open fireplace, and disappeared. Confused, Yaxley looked from Harry to the punched wizard, while the real Reg Cattermole screamed, "My Wife! Who was that with my wife? What's going on?"
Clara saw Yaxley's head turn, saw an inkling of truth dawn in that brutish face.
"Come on!" Harry shouted at Hermione; he seized her hand and they jumped into the fireplace together as Yaxley's curse sailed over Harry's head. Clara ran in after them, ducking her head to avoid the other curses Yaxley was sending towards the fireplace. She spun for a few seconds before shooting up out of a toilet into a cubicle. Harry flung open the door and helped her out of the toilet: Ron. was standing there beside the sinks, still wrestling with Mrs. Cattermole.
"Reg, I don't understand— "
"Let go, I'm not your husband, you've got to go home!" There was a noise in the cubicle behind them; Clara looked around: Yaxley had just appeared.
"LET'S GO!" Harry yelled. He seized Clara by the hand and Hermione by the arm, who was clutching Ron's hand tightly while trying to get him away from Mrs. Cattermole, and turned on the spot. Darkness engulfed them, along with the sensation of compressing hands, but something was wrong. . . . Harry's hand seemed to be sliding out of her grip. . . .
Clara's vision went black, as if she had passed out, but she was still fully conscious. And then she saw the door of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, with its serpent door knocker, but before she could let out a sigh of relief, there was a scream and a flash of purple light. Harry's hand was suddenly tightly gripping her hand and everything went dark once more.